system of combination, which is of late so general among them, enables them to prevent the possibility of any stranger, or otherwise obnoxious person getting possession of the land, and the landlord, in his own utter ignorance of the true character of the applicants, accepts that character, whether black or fair, just as their stewards or drivers are pleased to say. These men, owing to our radically vicious system, have it always in their power to darken and blacken the character of a Protestant, and to exalt the character of perhaps the most insidious and disaffected individual in the neighbourhood. God knoweth how often and how fearfully they have exerted this power with effect! Such are the two chiefly-effective causes that have led the Protestants of Ireland to emigrate. They have been neglected by the landlords, and persecuted by the Popish population.There are, without question, many other causes, all assisting in the promotion of the same end, the modern liberalism of the government, the concessions made to the Papists, the breaking down of the linen trade, and a laudable desire to improve their condition, all lead them to emigrate, but the two causes already noticed, are those which are the grand and chief motives which influence the mass of the emigrants. They feel themselves neglected-unprotected-unfriended; and while they are broken in fortunes, they are all but broken in spirit. It is passing strange, that the proprietary should thus treat that population which has, through good report and through evil report, invariably supported their interests, and their conduct can only be accounted for, on the principle already noticed, at the commencement of this paper. They have adopted the opinion that England will protect them in their estates, and they see no use in protecting themselves or their properties, inasmuch as they conceive it will always be the interest of England to give them the protection they require. When they see danger in the expulsion and emigration of Protestants, and in the increase and location of Papists, and that it is the factious priests and seditious leaders who possess the whole influence over that increasing body, they admit the greatness of the evil, but console themselves under the idea that when matters come to the worst, England will be obliged to interfere and afford them and The Settlement" of property that protection which they stand in need of. They see no necessity for encouraging loyalty or religion, no necessity for a moderate rental, no necessity for imparting comfort or civilization to the people, they see no necessity for any sacrifice of trouble or of rent or of anything else, on their part, to secure that protection which they conceive England, for her own sake, must always afford them. They look for protection, not in the affections or respect of their tenantry, but in the supposed interests of England. The only palliation for their conduct is to be found in the peculiar circumstances of their estates, which are so enencumbered with debts arising out of the extravagance of their fathers and themselves, that at least one-half of the rental goes annually to liquidate them, so that in their desire to maintain the supposed importance of the family name they are necessitated to set their lands far beyond their reasonable value. It is thus the Protestants are found to emigrate, it is thus the lands are got into the possession of the disaffected, and it is thus the landlords look to England to give them powers to coerce the people; they people their estates, (after removing the loyal Protestants,) with an ill-affected tenantry, and then call on the Government to protect them from that very class of tenantry which they themselves are encouraging! That there are some bright and illustrious exceptions among our proprietors is as certain as the shining of the sun; but those bright exceptions only serve to point out more plainly the desolation which others have created. For ourselves we have no hesitation in saying that in these times, when new questions are mooted daily in a spirit of change, there is no security for the property of the country, no pledge for the allegiance of this island, no peace for her inhabitants of any class, unless in the encouragement of a Protestant population; and we must confess that our forebodings are so far melancholy as to incline to the opinion that it is now too late for even that remedy at present. Thus is the history of the lower orders of the Irish Protestants a history of "suffering affliction" and of emigration! They came here two centuries ago, and many of them not half a century ago, as emigrants from England and Scotland: they have been "strangers and pilgrims" in the land, and it may be said of their sojourn in this island, as of the Patriarch of old, that “few and evil have been the days of their pilgrimage." They are now anew loosened from the sails of their fathers' adoption, and breathing their sad and bitter farewel to the green and sunny hills of their land-they have become emigrants again. It is a destiny which is passing strange, and as melancholy and interesting as it is strange; but let us bow in meekness before Him who rules the destiny of nations, and who hath his own purpose in that which he has appointed unto us. We must not presume to fathom the deep purposes of His will; but as we have seen Him already cradle into maturity and people a new world beyond the western wave, where His name is known and His truth is loved, and has affected this glorious end chiefly by the emigration of Protestants from these islands, so we may imagine that He designs to carry on this glorious work, and, as we have witnessed a new spirit of Christian knowledge, and zeal, and piety raised up among the Protestants of Ireland, so we may conjecture that they may be designed to be the honoured instruments of carrying the knowledge of His ways, and raising the standard of His salvation in the unpeopled and endless tracts of the American world. The roses of Sharon will bloom in the wide Savannah, and the flowers of Carmel blossom in the transatlantic forest, and perfect civilization and true religion make their dwelling in that land of emigrants! As for the land they leave-this doomed land, weeping with her thousand sorrows--there seems but little hope: she has not yet passed through her sea of troubles, and there seems nothing but blackness and darkness" before her. AGATHOCLES, A NOVEL, BY CAROLINE PICHLER. Reviewed and Translated by Herr Zander, Professor of German Literature. Within the last fifty years Germany has produced a number of excellent novels and romances, which, however, hitherto are little known in this country. Whether it be the black-letter, or the cu, or the ch, or some other bugbear that has frightened the novel-reading ladies, we cannot say; but this we can assure them of, that if they could overcome these ill-founded prejudices and a little apathy, they might find in those black-letter-books a great many things well worth the trouble of a few months' study. Without further speculation, however, we beg in these pages to introduce to our readers a highly talented authoress, whose very name is hardly known in this country, though her works amount at present to no less than forty-four volumes. Caroline Pich ler has for many years been a favourite in Germany, and she derives her literary celebrity no less from the number, than from the intrinsic merits of her works. All her writings display a most amiable character, deep feeling, clear understanding, and easy invention; her style, though simple and 66 subdued, is never tame, and is always graceful and pleasing. Amongst her numerous writings none has met with such a favourable reception and signal success as Agathocles (3 vols. Vienna, 1808.) This novel is brought before the reader in the form of letters, a form which, though fatal to mediocrity, offers to the gifted author many advantages, as it is peculiarly qualified for the developement of events and sentiments. Göthe in his Wilhelm Meister (Vol. II. Book 5, chap. 7,) says, In the novel it is chiefly sentiments and events that are exhibited; in the drama, it is characters and deeds. The novel must go slowly forward; and the sentiments of the hero, by some means or another, must restrain the tendency of the whole to unfold itself and to conclude. The drama, on the other hand, must hasten, and the character of the hero must press forward to the end; it does not restrain, but is restrained. The novel-hero must be suffering, at least he must not in a high degree be active, in the dramatic one we look for activity and deeds. Grandison, Clarissa, Pamela, the Vicar of Wakefield, Tom Jones himself, are, if not suffering, at least retarding personages, and the incidents are all in some sort modelled by their sentiments. In the drama the hero models nothing by himself,-all things withstand him, and he clears and casts away the hinderances from off his path, or else sinks under them." These words of the author of Werther and Wilhelm Meister have, on account of their simplicity and conciseness, made no little impression, and seem to have exercised a salutary influence upon the genius of Caroline Pichler. The scene of her tale is laid principally in the Eternal City and the eastern dominions of the Roman Empire; the time is from the year 300 to 305, a period when Christianity had to suffer so many violent and horrible persecutions. The rays which the religion of the cross shot at that time into the corruption of a deeply shaded and contaminated age, have been admirably depicted in the characters of the manly, virtuous Agathocles, and the angelic sufferer Larissa. Rome had then ceased to be the residence of the emperors. Diocletian, from a slave, risen to be the chief of the Prætorians,-those janisaries of old-had, after the death of Numerian, usurped the throne, and selected his countryman and fellow-warrior, Maximian, to share it with him. They divided the empire, so that the latter from Milan governed the west, whilst Diocletian ruled the east, and fixed his residence at Nicomedia, where he surrounded his throne with Asiatic pomp and splendour. Soon, however, two more co-regents were considered desirable; Maximian adopted Constantius Chlorus for his Cesar, Diocletian conferred the same dignity upon Galerius. After this, they divided the government of the vast empire thus: Constantius ruled Gaul, Spain, and Britain; Galerius the banks of the Danube and the Illyric provinces; Maximian's dominion extended over Italy and a part of Africa; but Egypt, Thracia, and the Asiatic provinces Diocletian reserved to himself. Each of the four monarchs was independent and unlimited in his own territory, while their united authority extended over the whole empire. This is the canvass which Caroline Pichler has selected for the tableau of her Agathocles; the historical events of those times are, however, kept merely in distant view, except the war against Narses, the persecutions of the Christians and, once, also a piratical invasion of the Goths, which are brought somewhat more into the foreground, or, if we may say so, interwoven with the action of the novel. By the following letters and extracts we intended to enable our readers to form an idea of the plot; we have, on this account, selected not the best letters, but merely those which bear more strictly upon that point, and for this reason, they may the easier pass for a fair specimen of Madame Pichler's style : : AGATHOCLES TO PHOCION. Rome, January 301. I am in Rome. That since a fortnight's sojourn here I have not yet written, you will, I trust, excuse, from the novelty of the objects that surround me, and their effect upon my mind. I feel, however, that I neither have found here, nor shall find, that cheerfulness and mirth which they expected in Nicomedia. Moreover, Rome is, perhaps, of all places in the world that where I shall be least likely to recover. But am I really ill? They imagine so, because I cannot live like others around me. Their perversity makes me appear eccentric-their follies, severe and insupportable; not that I desire immense and impossible things, but that truth and virtue, discipline and morals appear to them impossible,--that is the real ground of our disagreeing. The It may not be without some interest to subjoin here the opinion Frederick Von Schlegel gives on the Vicar of Wakefield in his History of Literature (11. 212.) "Of all romances in miniature," he says, " and, perhaps, this is the best shape in which romances can appear, the Vicar of Wakefield is, I think, the most exquisite.” Upon this Lord Byron remarks in his diary he thinks?-he might be sure!"Moore's Byron. age is sick, not he who with full knowledge of better times bygone, is bold enough to call it so. How can I live amongst these people! With the description of my journey by land and water, I shall not trouble you, out of regard for your time; it will suffice you to know, that I arrived in the capital of the world in good health and with a cheerful and open mind. The unrestrained enjoyment of nature, the boundless sea, the liberty of leisure, had gladdened my heart, and made it susceptible of every good impression. To you, the teacher of my youth, I may own, that a strange feeling overcame me when our vessel entered the mouth of the Tiber, and soon was to appear before me the stage of all those grand and glorious scenes which from my infancy had occupied my mind. My soul glowed within me, my breast heaved higher. Thus I arrived at Rome. From the height of the capitol, the manes of the illustrious ancestors seemed to be floating downward. All around was hallowed earth ;-everywhere memory, dignity, majesty. Through the crowded streets my guide conducted me to the house of our host, Lucius Piso. Many a monument of venerable antiquity, many an index to bright moments of history, I passed by with high-beating heart, and the firm intention shortly to visit them all. In the court a band of richly dressed slaves received us. I was shown into the Atrium. The statues of the Pisonian house, many signal forms easily recognised by those versed in history, were standing here. I first perceived by the sun-dial in the court that I had been left to wait for a considerable time. At length a smart slave who spoke Greek with peculiar elegance, made his appearance, and conducted me through many splendidly decorated apartments full of vases, paintings, statues, &c., to Lucius Piso. He is an excellent man, on the borders of old age, vigorous, intellectual, noble,-but much nobler without the pomp which surrounds him, and veils and diminishes his intrinsic worth. The father I was pleased with, less so with the sons. They are young men, not quite so devoid of accomplishments as most others whom I have become acquainted with here and at home; but the colour of the age has tinged them too strongly to let them appear truly deserving of esteem, Before supper, Piso introduced me to his daughter. By the gods! a charming creature! Report had already drawn my attention to her, still I found, in every regard, more than I had expected. So much beauty, so much inexpressible grace in form and deportment, and so much levity and perversity of sentiment! The daughter of one of the first houses of Rome, the descendant of such noble matrons, in the dress and' attire of a Greek Hetaera, and, nevertheless, in her words and actions perfect dignitynobility of womanhood! To my father I have already writ ten twice-once from Corinth, by a homebound vessel, and several days ago also from Rome. The respect which I owe to him as a son, I shall never violate wittingly. For the rest I can, unfortunately, do nothing of that which he wishes. I cannot live and act like him, for I cannot think and feel like him, and the total change of a stedfast mind is not the work of persuasion or force. Circumstances, time, and alluring might do something; but where the conviction of the right is so immovably grounded, as in my caseeven from those nothing is to be feared for me, nothing to be hoped for him. He has sent me away from Nicomedia to learn in other countries by experience, that my mode of thinking is fantastical, my requirements of the human race eccentric, and my ideas of public welfare absurd. I have obeyed him. Let me own that this obedience costs me nothing; for there was a voice within which told me, that father and son should not think thus of each other, and that, if they do so, they should not live together. My views, however, will always remain the same; Rome, at least, will work no change in them. How disgusting this city with her inhabitants is to me, I am unable to tell you. I readily agree with an opinion which Tiridates (who is the only person with whom I can live and converse in this focus of vice and follies), lately advanced, that it is exactly the acute contrast of the past and the present so strikingly exhibited in these despicable descendants of illustrious ancestors, which still more increases my antipathy. No, indeed, Phocion, my father should not have sent me to Rome! Nevertheless, I do not, upon the whole, dislike my sojourn here. I learn much, gather experience,' see many a monument of art and of better times, and associate with many well informed men. My hours are regularly divided between mental and bodily exercises, enjoyment and labour. You know, I only require leisure and liberty to be contented. Contented!-more, man cannot and should not desire. And is not, indeed, every one happy only as far as he considers himself so? If, nevertheless, gloomy thoughts sometimes rise in my soul, it is exercise for my inner strength to combat them. Man is not born for fortune,-his destination is to be good. To goodness wisdom leads, to wisdom independence of wants. That let us never forget,-let us keep to that, and then expect whatever may happen to us, with courageous mind and cheerful countenance." THE SAME TO THE SAME. Rome, Febr 301. When I was a child, long before my father entrusted me to your guidance, there dwelt next door to us Timantias, a noble Nicomedian, who filled one of the highest offices in the state. My father and he were friends, or at least what usually is called so; his children were our playmates. A delicate constitution, the inheritance of my early departed mother, and my disposition prevented me from joining those wild sports in which my early deceased brothers, with Timantias' sons, exercised their youthful strength. Larissa, Timantias' daughter, on such occasions, remained with me; her mild soul found a delight in not deserting me. We played together, or, by the irresistible power of kindness, she persuaded the others also, to choose a less violent game. Thus she cared for me, loved me, and filled my heart with sweet sentiments. We grew up, and our inclination grew with us. Then fate coldly and hostilely stept in between us. Timantias was accused of a crime; whether he really had committed such, or whether his great wealth-a powerful temptation for the avaricious Proconsul, Sisenna Statilius-were the cause, never has become known. He was thrown into prison. My father broke off all intercourse with the dis graced family. Larissa and I saw each other only by stealth, and therefore with the greater desire, across the hedges which separated our gardens. At last, after a fourteen months' imprisonment, by particular favour, it was said, having been found guilty of a capital offence, Timantias was banished with his family, and his great pro perty confiscated. Sisenna Statilius purchased his house at a trifling price, and my father kept up the same friendly terms with him, on which he had formerly been with Timantias.—— I could not be persuaded to enter the house again where the spirits of the expelled seemed to me to wander about demanding vengeance. This obstinacy of a youth of eighteen was one of the main sources of the continual disagreement between me and my father. Eight years have elapsed, no trace of Timantias fate has been found. Whether Larissa be happy, whether she be married, or even whether she be still alive, -however important these questions may seem to me,-nobody can answer them. All inquiries I made, were fruitless. But still her memory lives in my breast, as the only bright point in my fate. And even that was to va nish!-Farewell," TO THE SAME. Rome, Febr. SOL "A high image in ethereal brightness is floating before my soul. Larissa appears to me frequently here in Rome since I live about Calpurnia,-more frequently than before,-in waking, in dreaming,-and not in vain! By this pure flame, every impure desire is des troyed, the will itself chastened, my strength steeled. I have lost all hope of seeing her again; nevertheless, I can in some moments, not resist a fervent wish, a presentiment of future union. This also, is one of the contradictions in my heart, which shame and torment me. Am I then never to gain rest and peace of mind? Is my breast for ever. to be the arena of contending inclinations?” The next letter which after this fragment, we have selected for the pe rusal of our readers, is dated from Nicomedia, whither Agathocles had res |